


it's too cold outside (for angels to fly)

by secretfeanorian



Series: the worst things in life come free to us [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Maglor is trying to cope with the loss of his family, Maglor thinks he's going insane again, Maglor's still a little obsessed with the sea, Relapses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2014-05-10
Packaged: 2018-01-24 04:59:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1592504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretfeanorian/pseuds/secretfeanorian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Surely it's only a matter of time before he collapses? Only a matter of time until someone sees how much not better he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's too cold outside (for angels to fly)

_The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But I have promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep.  
_

* * *

Maglor goes to the beach a lot. He won’t say he doesn’t know why because he does now. He forgot who he was and what he had done a long time ago and he had remained in the dark for a long time, but he can remember now.  
  
He doesn’t haunt the seashore like he used to, but he still spends an awful lot of time there. He shrugs whenever someone asks - and they do ask, a lot - and doesn’t explain his reasoning. He knows what significance the sea holds for him, but other than feeling more comfortable by the sea, the ocean holds no particular longing for him.  
  
He does not feel the effect of the gulls and he feels no sea longing rooted in his core. He should, he thinks, but he doesn’t. He’s scared of what this implies. Is he no longer permitted in Valinor (that’s most likely), is the road closed forever? Is it too late for any elf on this side of the Sundering Sea to go home or is it just him?  
  
He tries not to think about it too much. He knows he will begin to sink back into the void if he does and that is not something he wants to do. The void still scares him, even though he now knows it is only his mind. Or perhaps that is what makes it so utterly terrifying. (He thinks this is probably the case)  
  
It’s not as if he’s singing for forgiveness. He’s not. He does sing still, but he does it mostly in complete privacy and if he’s not alone, there’s only one or two other people there. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to singing within or in front of larges groups every again and that makes him sad. He used to perform in front of large groups all the time. And he had loved it. Now, the thought of performing to a group larger than two only fills him with terror. He hates that so much.  
  
As he sits there thinking about that terror with the seawind in his face, a cheerful tune comes to mind. He stops thinking about how he’s changed for a moment, recognizes the tune and shoves it back down again. It still hurts to think about his family and because of that, he tries to do it as rarely as possible. He knows it’s a terrible coping method, but for now it’s the only one that works, so he’s stuck with what he’s got for now. He tries to be annoyed about that, but can’t quite summon the strength to.  
  
Beaches in New York are crowded and polluted and he hates them, but still he goes to them. He finds he by far prefers the beaches of the West coast, colder and less crowded. Some voice in his head tells him he’s only thinking of part of the West coast and he tells that voice to shut up because he doesn’t care.  
  
He watches a few seagulls steal a lunch bag and then he leaves. He decides that he doesn’t like New York much. Everything is too big and there are too many people. He hasn’t been good with or in crowds for a long time.  
  
He doesn’t think anyone agrees with him about New York, but Bucky at least, understands his dislike of crowds. He doesn’t know why he doesn’t talk to Bucky more often. On that matter, he has absolutely nothing.  
  
He goes for a walk one day and bumps into a red-haired man named Matt in Central Park. Maglor wouldn’t have stuck around if the man hadn’t laughed and he hadn’t heard his brother in that laugh. But Matt had laughed and it had sounded like Maitimo and the two men end up talking for a few hours. Maglor doesn’t expect to see the man again and is half-convinced that Matt hadn’t even been real, so he isn’t surprised when he doesn’t see the man again.  
  
He goes back to the beach and sits on the sand, staring into the sea. He thinks he sees an eagle flying toward him and starts, but when he blinks, it is only a pair of seagulls and he watches them almost sadly for a few minutes before returning to the tower.  
  
He’s beginning to think he’s going crazy by the time he goes back to Central Park and mistakes someone for an orc. Thankfully, the only thing that comes of that particular mistake is a strange man watching him half cautiously, half curiously, and not a dead body in Central Park. That would’ve been difficult to explain. The only laughter that comes from that joke is bitter and forced.  
  
He decides there’s definitely something wrong with his head (again) when he comes down in the middle of the night and thinks Tony is his father. He locks himself on his floor after that incident and doesn’t come out for another week.  
  
When he does come out, it’s early in the morning and he leaves the tower without anyone (but JARVIS) realizing he had left and walks down to the shoreline. The sun hasn’t risen yet, and for some reason, there is hardly anyone out on this particular strip of beach. There’s a shape beside him, but he doesn’t turn to look for an hour or so and when he finally does look, there’s nothing there. He isn’t surprised, but he does feel slightly disappointed.  
  
He hates the feeling of disappointment and so he buries the event and doesn’t think about it again. He’s still using the lousy coping method of shoving everything down and away, but for now he’s managing to hold himself together. He doesn’t think about what will happen when he can no longer support himself and the walls he’s so painstakingly built come crumbling down.  
  
Most of the time, he pretends there’s no way that could ever happen. Deep down, however, he knows it’s only a matter of time. At those times when that deep down isn’t as deep as it normally is, he’s scared, but he always pushes it back down where it doesn’t belong very quickly and doesn’t dwell on it. If he does, he’ll only come crashing down that much sooner.  
  
 _It’s only a matter of time, but I still have time left_ , he thinks. He knows that’s just another excuse to let himself decay, but he doesn’t call himself out on it. Somedays, he thinks he’d be better off decayed. His family is gone after all. His family is all gone.  
  
The ache is screaming. His soul feels like it’s being torn apart and he hurts so badly. _Help me_ , he screams, but there is no answer and the silence stretches on.  
  
He doesn’t scream again, although he wants to. He knows it will do no good. It won’t even make him feel better. He goes back to the tower and he sings instead.  
  
He knows he’s gone insane by now and he doesn’t even bother to be surprised when he thinks he hears a drunk Celegorm singing some twisted version of a drinking song.  
  
He’s not sure what is reality and what isn’t anymore, but he knows that that isn’t. The one time Celegorm wouldn’t sing while drunk (or sober) was when he knew Maglor was within hearing range.  
  
He discovers Thor had been singing an Asgardian drinking song and that had been his explanation for that bout of madness. He can’t explain the others. He doesn’t even try to though, so that might have something to do with that.  
  
He thinks no one notices him watching Thor almost sadly, but in this - as in many other things concerning this new world he found himself in almost a decade ago - he is wrong. Bucky makes his way over to Maglor about half an hour later and just sits next to him for a while. He doesn’t say anything. He just sits there quietly.  
  
Maglor then decides he might need to spend more time with Bucky. His presence is oddly comforting and Maglor thinks he is reminded a little of his mother. He’s not sure.  
  
But it doesn’t end up mattering because Bucky is Bucky and doesn’t remind Maglor of just one person, but has a combination of several different traits that had been shared by people Maglor had grown up around.  
  
He doesn’t tell Bucky this; he just rests his head on Bucky’s shoulder and lets the comforting presence lull him to sleep.  
  
Bucky reminds him a little of himself, he decides. Not the him his family had known, but the him that he had become.  
  
(they were different, after all)


End file.
